


Safe In His Arms

by pensively



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Drama, Fluff, Kissing in the Rain, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2018-03-23 00:27:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3748636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pensively/pseuds/pensively
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Staying one step ahead of the woman who wants him dead should be Arthur's priority. Instead, all he can think about is Merlin, the man whose job it is to keep him safe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Safe In His Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Camelot Drabble](http://camelot-drabble.livejournal.com/)'s prompt # 155 -- rain. 
> 
> Kindly beta'ed by [RocknVaughn](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RocknVaughn/pseuds/RocknVaughn), who is as awesome at titles and summaries as I am terrible at sticking to word limits. :)

"You shouldn't be out here."

It’s a terse command, but that doesn't stop Arthur from joining Merlin outside. He's been cooped up for nearly two days in their room at this dilapidated Mablethorpe guest house, and he's had just about all he can take of those four water-stained walls and their peeling, faded wallpaper. Even the dreary fog and drizzle coming in off the bay is an improvement.

The grizzled caretaker, Mr. Kilgharrah, is obviously unable to keep the place up as he must have done in the past. The guest house is a mere shadow of the neat white building seen in the yellowing postcards kept in the lobby. Its decline is evident in the chipped paint, stained linens and general state of disrepair that plagues the tiny property. Perhaps the only good point to their cut-price accommodation is that it is safe -- it’s unclear to Arthur how Merlin knows Mr. Kilgharrah, but it’s only because he’s trusted Merlin that Arthur has made it this far alive, and he’s not inclined to stop now.

“I very much doubt anyone will be able to see me in this weather, Merlin.”

Merlin turns and looks at Arthur, his expression grave as he crosses his arms across his chest in disapproval. “I’d rather not risk it. As we so recently learned, Morgause has eyes and ears everywhere.”

“Not _everywhere_ , surely,” Arthur replies. He steps closer to Merlin, who leans with deceptive calm against the once-white column, now a dull grey that complements the dismal, rain-laden clouds.

“You’re very glib for a man whose life is in danger, Arthur. How do you expect me to protect you if you’ve no care for your own safety?”

“I assure you, Merlin, that I care very much. But we’ve been on the run for how many days now? A man can only maintain a state of high alert for so long...at this point I just have to trust that you’ve brought us to a safe place. Not to mention that I need some fresh air. That room smells like mould and cat piss.”

Merlin makes a noise low in his throat that Arthur cannot interpret. “I suppose there’s no telling you, is there?” He shifts, and looks at Arthur again. “Fine, for a little while. But not too long.”

“Not long,” Arthur says agreeably.

Merlin continues to stare out into the rain as if it holds the answer to all life's mysteries. His shoulders are tense beneath the navy fabric of his woolen peacoat, and Arthur wants to touch him, wants to place his hands on Merlin’s back and ease the strain that keeping Arthur alive has undoubtedly caused. Arthur knows that this is the worst possible time to get involved with someone, but he cannot help his attraction -- hasn’t been able to help it from the moment he met Merlin. It feels like a lifetime ago that he’d stood in his father’s office, surrounded by cold steel and glass, the only warmth coming from the firm clasp of Merlin’s hand as they’d greeted one another.

Arthur had balked at the idea of a personal bodyguard, of course, but Uther had been insistent and in the end, Arthur had found himself with no choice but to yield. It had seemed both an extreme and entirely unnecessary measure at the time, yet within twenty-four hours Merlin had been the only person standing between Arthur and certain death. He had become the only one Arthur can truly trust, given that Morgause apparently has spies even within the very agencies to which Arthur should be able to turn for protection.

After more than one narrow escape from various sanctioned safe houses, Merlin had determined that they'd be safer if they went off book, somewhere more remote. With air travel out of the question, there had been no choice but to travel by car, stopping only for Arthur to dye his hair dishwater brown in the filthiest petrol station loo he'd ever had the misfortune to encounter. Several harrowing hours later, after driving through the night in fear of every set of headlamps glimpsed in the rear-view mirror, they'd ended up here. It was a poor place of respite, perhaps, but a welcome one nonetheless.

A crumbling cement walkway runs the length of the guest house, covered with a rusted metal awning of some indeterminate color. Rain drips steadily through the holes formed by the oxidation process, staining the concrete brownish-red where it falls. Arthur watches as Merlin reaches out and catches a raindrop in his palm, tilting his hand back and forth so that the water slides along his palmar creases. Merlin never takes his eyes from the rain-soaked trees, as if he expects enemies to appear at any moment.

“I should,” Arthur begins awkwardly, clearing his throat, “I should thank you. For saving my life.”

Merlin turns to him, his deep blue eyes somber. “You don’t have to thank me for doing my job, Arthur.”

“Right, of course,” Arthur says. His eyes narrow and his lips curve in a shrewd smile as he adds, “Except I don’t believe it’s just a job for you, not anymore.”

Merlin’s eyebrows draw together as he frowns. “What makes you say that?”

“If it were just a job, Merlin, you wouldn’t look at me the way you do when you think I’m not paying attention.”

Merlin’s back stiffens in obvious denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I think you do, Merlin.” Arthur moves closer, and is rewarded by the tiniest, almost imperceptible shift in Merlin’s posture. “No hired man would be as fanatical as you’ve been about keeping me safe. And no man who’s just doing his job would look at me as if he wonders how I taste. I saw you when I got out of the shower, you know.” Arthur moves closer, still, until he’s close enough to breathe his next words into Merlin’s ear. “I saw you looking at my arse, and you bit your lip. You wanted to say something...do something, didn’t you?”

“Even if I did,” Merlin says slowly, his voice deep, rich, and unbearably sexy to Arthur, “this isn’t the time or the place.”

“You’re right, it isn’t. We’ve known each other for less than a fortnight, most of which we’ve spent running for our lives. But there’s something about you Merlin, something I can’t quite put my finger on. It tells me to trust you, to trust _this_ ,” Arthur says, motioning between them.

“Maybe when this is all over--,” Merlin begins, but Arthur cuts him off.

“Who knows what will happen or when this will be over? I don’t want to wait.”

Arthur tentatively places his hand on Merlin’s arm, half-expecting it to be thrown off. Merlin only stares at him, his lips slightly parted and his gaze considering. Moments pass in silence but for the steady patter of rain falling all around them. Arthur sees it, when Merlin gives in. He sees Merlin’s eyes soften, sees the tense lines of his face ease, and he takes his opportunity, brushing his lips against Merlin’s, softly at first, and then kissing him hard and deep. Merlin relaxes against him, and their kiss is somehow both desperate and sweet, as if each man knows it might be their last as well as their first.

It is Merlin who breaks it off, breathing heavily. Arthur reaches up and traces the line of Merlin’s jaw, feeling the barest hint of stubble beneath his fingers. He smiles and pulls away, stepping back just out of Merlin’s reach.

Merlin moves forward immediately, seemingly without conscious thought, and reaches for Arthur, gently wrapping his long fingers around Arthur’s wrist. “Where do you think you’re going?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eyes.

“You said you wanted me back in the room, didn’t you Merlin?” Arthur says coyly, raising one eyebrow.

Merlin’s lips twitch with amusement, but his eyes are dark with desire as he steps forward again, crowding Arthur’s body with his own. He leans forward until Arthur can inhale his scent: rainwater, tea, and the cheap soap provided by the guest house. “So I did,” Merlin says quietly, and there’s an intensity to his expression that makes Arthur’s stomach tighten in anticipation.

“Well then,” Arthur says, lightly tugging his wrist from Merlin’s grasp as he moves toward the open doorway, “I’d best get on with it, wouldn’t you say?”

He doesn’t look back to see if Merlin is following him; the huff of surprised laughter and sound of Merlin’s footfalls behind him tell Arthur all he needs to know.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [In the safety of your arms](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4299102) by [myideaofbeautiful](https://archiveofourown.org/users/myideaofbeautiful/pseuds/myideaofbeautiful)




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